James and His Daydreams
by LadyMargaret
Summary: 'Tis time somebody wrote a decent Liberty's Kids fic. And obviously, that fic has not yet been written. Because this, frankly, is bad. Just... bad. But's it's Sarah/James, so if you're into that sort of thing... (rated PG for bad language on my part. Heh.


[Disclaimer: All characters copyright © Liberty's Kids, and whoever owns that. Yuppers.]

Um… 'tis late, and I'm bored, and I found only _two_ Liberty's Kids fics on this friggin' site.  So I thought, What the hey, what've I got to lose?  And am now attempting to write a fanfic.  My first fanfic.  Ever.  (Well, actually… there was that incident with the 100-page-long Redwall fanfic.  But we shan't go into that.)

For those who have never seen nor heard of Liberty's Kids, then… frankly, you have more of a life than me.  But honestly, you _must_ watch this show.  If only to see how sexily men used to dress.  *sigh*  (Why, oh why, have guys ceased to wear vests and breeches?)  But.  I digress.  Just so you know, O ye who have never seen this show, these are the characters:

Sarah ~ 15-year-old British loyalist Tory thingamajig (get your priorities straight, girl!).

James ~ 14-year-old American patriot Yankee gizmo (whoopin' your English arse, yo!).  (Really, I'm not that retarded.  'Yo' isn't normally part of my vocabulary… ahem.)

P.S. Beware!  'Tis a James/Sarah fic.  Kinda.  Actually the best description would be: 'Filthy pigswill', but really the word 'filthy' could be exchanged for 'crappy', or even 'horrid'.  You were warned.

~*~

James sat on the wharf, his pretty blond hair pulled back in the ponytail that he _always_ had.  He was wearing his adorable brown jacket, and adorable buckled shoes, and sexy vest, and whatnot.  What was he doing out there on the wharf, all alone, you ask?  Well, I'll tell you.  He was daydreaming… about Sarah!  (Aha.  Caught you off guard.  Not really.)

But this wasn't just any daydream; a daydream involving evil Redcoats getting their eyes poked out.  No, this was an unusual sort of daydream, the kind that concerned flirtatious glances, romantic moonlight, and… of _course_… kissing.  Because, even though she was a year older than he was, James really did like Sarah.  A lot.  She was a hottie; I mean, so she's a Tory.  So what?  

James sighed.

"What are you doing out here on the wharf?" a voice asked, startling James out of his reverie.  

He whipped his head around, about to yell something indignant, when he realized that it was Sarah.  Lovely, beautiful Sarah, with her flaming red hair pulled back in a ponytail very similar to his.

(_Author's note: The Liberty's Kids theme song has just begun to play on Winamp.  I've been inspired.  God bless  you, Aaron Carter!  Despite your disgustingness, I truly do hate you.  And I mean that in the nicest way possible._)

"Er…" James stuttered, suddenly very aware that he had just been daydreaming about the very girl that stood before him.  "Um… I'm meditating."

"Meditating?" Sarah said, incredulous.

James nodded.  "Yes.  I heard it was good for the… something."

Sarah chose to ignore James' strangeness, and sat down next to him on the wharf.  "I brought some soup," she said, holding out a thermos (did thermoses exist in the 18th century, or am I delusional?).

The two were silent for a while.  James nervously began tapping the wood he sat on, creating a disjointed sort of rhythm.  Sarah gave him an irritated glance.  Those Yanks, always up to something random.

"So…" Sarah said, trying to make conversation, "I… um yes.  Well.  I like your jacket."  Immediately she mentally slapped herself.  _I like your jacket_?  What kind of lame pickup line is _that_?

James, ignoring her stricken look, beamed.  "Why thank you!  I bought it myself."

Sarah was relieved he was too dim to notice how stupid she had sounded.  Oh well, all the better for her.  Because, all she really wanted to do right now was… _No_, she couldn't.  Poor young James, a year younger than her.  Did she really want to be known as Sarah the cradle-robbing Tory?  God, no.  But, then again, what the hell.

Sarah took James' face in her hands and kissed him (and pretty passionately, too, for a 15-year-old British aristocrat.  Sheesh.).

When she pulled away, James was staring at her disbelievingly.  "Well, that was unexpected," he said.  "And I thought they were just daydreams."

"You were _daydreaming_ about me?" Sarah squeaked.  She was suddenly creeped out.  "You insolent patriot!" she cried, and stalked away down the dock.

James stared.  "Was it something I said?"

~*~

And… scene.  Couldn't resist that last line there; gotta love a cliché!  So, uh, sorry this story really sucks.  It's late and I have an excuse: I have no life.  But one does appreciate a review now and then, so get on it my lovelies!  And I apologize for anyone's life I may have ruined by writing such awful swill. *twitch*  


End file.
